


Part of You

by wehangout



Series: Gallavich Week 2015 [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 3.06, AKA, M/M, mentions of canonical rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehangout/pseuds/wehangout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it’s not the first time you’ve seen Ian and Yevgeny asleep together, but it’s the first time it hits you in any kind if real way, and it hits you hard, right in the chest, heavy and daunting. You stare at them, eyes wide and mouth agape, because it’s just so fucking beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of You

**Author's Note:**

> I'm ignoring season 5 ever happened. Sue me.
> 
> Written for Gallavich Week 2015. Day 6 - Family.

You never wanted kids. Why the fuck would you ever want to bring a kid into this world? This neighbourhood? This fucking house with this fucked-up family? Why bring another fuck up into the fucked-up world that no one really wants to be in? There’s no good reason for that, and you don’t necessarily consider yourself to be a good person, but you’re good enough to not do that to a fucking baby who has no way out. Being gay never had anything to do with it. You genuinely couldn’t bring yourself to willingly make another person live the life you’ve lived with the people you lived it with.

None of that changed with Svetlana. Not when you found out she was knocked up, not when her stomach got real fucking huge, not even when she shoved the kid in your face for the first time. You didn’t want him. You don’t want him. His conception was literally forced upon you in a way you still refuse to think about, because when you do think about it, it’s just blood and rage and Ian’s tear-filled eyes.

It’s hurt and embarrassment and sick-to-your-stomach fear.

So it’s not fair. It’s not fair that you have to have this kid in your life; it’s not fair on you and it’s not fair on the kid. It wasn’t fair on Ian when he found out about it. You’re not even sure it was fair on Svetlana when she realised she was knocked up. Nothing about the situation has ever been fair.

But you dealt with it. Because you fucking had to. No one else was going to, so you did it. Your old man demanded you get married to the whore; you got married to the whore. Svetlana demanded money for the baby; you got her money for the baby. There was no other choice in the matter.

There’s a choice now.

Now Terry’s locked up. Now Svetlana’s got some chick helping out with the kid. Now Ian’s here and he’s yours, he’s out of bed and he seems okay, he’s not running away and you’re not running away and you have fucking choices.

So you choose. You choose to change Yevgeny’s diaper. You choose to give him his bottle when Svetlana’s at work and Ian’s sleeping. You choose to fork out cash so he can get his shots and whatever the fuck else his crazy mother claims he needs. Svetlana demanded - because she’s real fucking good at that - you begin helping out, but you choose just how much help you give.

And it’s not much. Mandy helps more than you. Nika helps more than you. Ian helps more than you.

You know about the clothes - clothes that used to belong to Liam, clothes that Ian never wanted you or Svetlana to know he brought around - and you’re quietly thankful for them. A shitty whorehouse on top of a shitty bar doesn’t bring in a ton of cash, and every little bit helps.

It helps when Ian gets up to Yevgeny in the middle of the night, it helps when Ian swaddles the kid with ease after years of practice with his siblings, it helps when Ian makes faces at the kid when you can’t calm him down.

It helps when Ian doesn’t once judge you for not wanting to be around the kid.

Ian gets it. You sometimes wonder if Ian ever wanted kids, if this is how he expected his life to turn out. You know it’s not. His plan was the army, being an officer, finding a suitable dude to shack up with. Maybe they’d adopt a kid or two, maybe they wouldn’t. Kids was never something you and Ian discussed; it was just thrown on you way too young.

Ian gets it. And he gets Yevgeny. He knows what Yevgeny wants when he cries at night, he knows what he wants when he cries in the morning, he knows what the kid fucking wants when he cries in the middle of the fucking day. Ian knows how to calm him, how to get his burps up, how to settle his reflux.

Ian gets it.

You don’t.

And not just the paternal things that are supposed to come to you over time - knowing why he’s crying, heating the bottle to just the right temperature, fucking swaddling - but the other stuff. Baby stuff - the smell, the skin, the soft coos. They’re supposed to be fucking adorable, and you can appreciate that your kid isn’t ugly, but to you it’s just … rage and embarrassment and sick-to-your-stomach fear.

You put it all aside to do what you have to do - diapers and burping and sometimes even bathing - but you don’t feel good about it.

Until now. Until tonight.

Summer hit four days ago and it hit hard. It’s after midnight and the air outside is still thick with heat, the five crappy fans you and Iggy have acquired are all still blowing full-force when you walk into the house, and Ian’s passed out shirtless on the couch.

With Yevgeny asleep on his chest.

And it’s not the first time you’ve seen Ian and Yevgeny asleep together, but it’s the first time it hits you in any kind if real way, and it hits you hard, right in the chest, heavy and daunting. You stare at them, eyes wide and mouth agape, because it’s just so fucking beautiful.

Ian is beautiful. Every fucking day you silently marvel at how overwhelmingly beautiful he is, but Yevgeny … he’s just been this kid, this kid who is cute as far as kids go, but not much more than that. Seeing him like this, with Ian … he’s gorgeous. He’s peaceful, content, snoring slightly against Ian’s chest.

He’s beautiful.

And he’s yours.

You close your mouth and swallow heavily. You kick off your shoes, take your wallet and phone out of your back pocket, and make your way over to Ian and Yevgeny. Wallet and phone on the coffee table, you sit next to them, unable to take your eyes off them and how stupidly nice they look together.

Ian stirs as you sit next to him, his eyes blinking open slowly. He yawns, moves a soothing hand up and down Yevgeny’s back, then notices you. He smiles, soft and sleepy, and you can’t help but smile back.

“You just get in?” he whispers.

You nod and slowly reach out a hand to Yevgeny, letting your fingers stroke over his head, through his fine hair, and it’s different. It’s different to every other time you’ve held him or touched him or even fucking looked at him. It’s different and it’s good and you do it again and again, gently caress his head with your hand, smooth his hair away from his face, slide your pinkie finger beneath his onesie and onto the warm skin of his neck.

He snuffles, rubs his nose against Ian’s chest, and turns to face you, eyes still closed. You pull your hand away, but Ian makes a noise in the back of his throat. You look up at him, and he’s smiling the kind of smile you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on him before.

“I think he likes it,” he says.

You snort quietly, but put your hand back on Yevgeny’s head. On your son’s head. You stare at him and remember falling in love with Ian - how long it had taken yet how quickly it had hit you. How one day it hadn’t been there and the next it had. But this time you can feel it, you can feel yourself completely falling for this kid in Ian’s arms. You don’t know if it’s just some of your feelings for Ian seeping into Yevgeny, or something else entirely, but it doesn’t suck.

“He looks like you,” Ian says, and you gaze shoots up to him.

“What?”

Ian smiles. “He does this thing if I accidentally wake him when putting him back to bed; his whole face scrunches up in annoyance, and he looks up at me like I’m the worst thing in the fucking world. Like, he really fucking glares, Mick, and then he just looks away, closes his eyes, and stuffs his face into his pillow. Pretends I don’t even exist anymore.”

You lift both eyebrows. “And you’re comparing him to me?”

“That’s what you do every morning when I wake you too early.”

“I don’t look at you like that.”

“You do when I wake you up.”

You feel a little guilty at that, but Ian just keeps smiling, shifting his smile from you to your kid and back again.

“You kinda like him, huh?”

He looks steadily at you, smile still there, but wary. “He’s part of you, Mick. I kinda love him.”

You sniff and rest your head on Ian’s shoulder, closing your eyes. You don’t say anything to that. You kind of want to tell him to fuck off, stop being so damn sentimental, but then he presses a kiss to your hair and you sigh. You say nothing - too relaxed, too happy, too sleepy - to pretend to care that Ian’s getting all sappy on you.

You curl into him slightly, slip your arm across his waist, right beneath Yevgeny’s legs. and come face-to-face with Yevgeny. It’s nice - sitting with Ian and your kid. It’s something you think you can get used to - something you want to get used to.

You get choices now. You choose Yevgeny.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://wehangout.tumblr.com/) :)


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